


new year's

by SeekerSky143



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Gen, New Year's Eve, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekerSky143/pseuds/SeekerSky143
Summary: A series of New Year's pass, and Izaya's situation doesn't get any better. Until it does.





	new year's

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly just felt like writing something, and I modeled this a little bit after the the Chinese film 'Us and Them' - which chronicles a series of Chinese New Year's instead of New Year's. 
> 
> This was completely unplanned, so I have no idea how it turned out the way it did, but hope you guys will enjoy it anyway! Happy New Year!

The phone doesn’t ring.

He doesn’t know why he still bothers anymore; doesn’t know why he finds himself hovering in the living room that’s more dead than alive waiting for the disappointment that he knows will come.

It’s just… not right. There’s no lying himself out of this one. It’s not fair. And he doesn’t have high hopes – never had, really – but he can’t help the twitch in his fingers whenever he hears something remotely close to a ring, can’t help the echoing thuds of his heart in the empty space where his chest lies.

He’s so stupid. They haven’t bothered to reach out in years, why would they try to now? For all the naivety and desperation that he so often scoffs at in the humans that he loves so much, it’s disturbing to realise that he has at least some of it as well. It’s disgusting. It’s ugly.

“Don’t stare at me like that,” he snaps at the little hand tugging at his pants, and then lets loose a sigh so heavy, it might’ve been staged. “Guess it’s just the three of us for New Year’s again. What a bother.”

Orihara Izaya is twelve, and he spends the seconds before midnight forcing his gaze away from his silent phone and eating soggy cup noodles in front of an empty TV screen.

 

 

 

“Do you want to come over today?”

Izaya ignores the betrayal of his shoulders in the form of a flinch, and trails an impassive look towards his bespectacled friend. “What, you’re not going to spend time with your imaginary girlfriend tonight?”

Shinra’s cheeriness evaporates. Instead, his indignation comes in the form of furrowed brows and hands planted on his hips, “Celty’s not imaginary! How can you say that? She’s the most beautiful, corporeal form to ever grace the dirt of this earth! And of course, if I could I would spend all my waking moments with her, but unfortunately,” the corners of his mouth droop down comically and he rubs the tip of his right shoe against the ground, “she’s not going to be in today.”

“Does she have a date with another besotted lover?” Izaya tips his torso towards Shinra, grin in place. “How convenient it is that she’s not here on the one day you invite me over to your place.” He tips himself further, so nearly on the edge of his feet that he might topple over onto Shinra himself – but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes are millimetres away from the thick lens of Shinra’s spectacles, and he stares at the malice in his own rust-red irises.

“I would never let Celty have another lover,” Shinra’s suddenly serious, and he pushes forward even though Izaya’s already on the verge of smacking face-first into him; Izaya nearly goes cross-eyed staring at Shinra from this distance, so he pivots back to a normal standing and tilts his head patronisingly. “I will never let someone else share in Celty’s affections. It is mine, and mine only, and I don’t care what I have to do to ensure that.”

“Oops. Sensitive topic, huh?” Izaya’s eyes slant even further.

“And anyway,” Shinra takes a step back and smiles amiably back at him, “I wouldn’t ever let you meet Celty. You’re too horrible a person – I don’t want to taint her!”

“Ouch,” Izaya clutches at his chest with a hand, “that’s not nice to say. And here I thought you’re inviting me because of my spectacular personality.”

“Kadota’s coming along too, and Celty always said I should have more friends,” Shinra shrugs.

Izaya’s fourteen that year, and he abandons his two kid sisters at home and tries not to feel guilty about it.

At least he still gives them a call – not that they can, as toddlers, remotely understand the sentiment behind it.

 

 

 

It’s not usually this cold, but tonight it’s close to freezing, and he honestly wishes that he’d stayed home.

The twins are getting rowdier, being eight and fully capable of voicing their dissatisfactions, so it’s not like he can simply leave them at home again like he’d so wish to. Instead, he’s dragged out of his warm apartment in hunt for some actual food – they’d thrown the microwave meal at his face with all the disdain and abandon of children who does not know the meaning of compromise – and of course, it’s already late at night. Most of the fancier establishments are packed with lovers and crowds of giggling teens and drunk, horny older men, while the smaller stores are closed for business.

Izaya lets out a dramatic sigh as his footsteps lead him to the only place left open and available.

He hates fast-food joints.

It’s still busy, but it’s a milder crowd than wherever else he’s been to so far. He parks himself at the end of a line, and it’s actually a good vantage point from which to observe people. There’s a bunch of his schoolmates crowded at a corner table, laughing obnoxiously in the way teenagers do when they’re among friends.

He doesn’t know why, but his cheeks prick and he turns away, choosing to stare at the bright menu instead. Honestly, there’s not much to choose from. All fast-food joints offer the same unappealing options.

“Izaya?” he hears, and he has his usual grin already fixed in place as he spins around.

“Ah, Dota-chin!” his smile is wide, wide, _wide_ and his gaze travels to the companions by his side. The corners of his lips turn sharp. “Ah, what’s this?”

From the way the brute is growling at him, he should’ve heard the tremors all the way from the ground up to his spine. Shinra has a hand placed placatingly onto Shizuo’s shoulder, but the blond is obviously inches away from charging straight at him.

“Shinra,” he greets first, deliberately ignoring the other man’s presence, though it should be impossible to ignore, by the way he’s reacting to Izaya like a dog strangling itself on a leash. “I see, this year’s New Year’s is also spent without a certain elusive someone.”

This time however, his words do not deflate Shinra’s cheeriness in the slightest. “Ah, she’s busy, but it’s okay! This time next year, she’ll want to spend the day with me, I’m sure of it! But Orihara-kun, what are you doing here? I thought you hate fast-food.”

“Well, other establishments are filled with rowdier crowds and I’m really here just to get the objective done.” Izaya shrugs. It’s only then, finally, that he turns his attention to the snarling brute by Shinra’s side, and he widens his eyes. “Oh, Shizu-chan, I didn’t see you there!”

“Like hell you didn’t!” the brute finally barks. Honestly, this man is no different to a common dog – he can almost see the trails of saliva dripping down sharp fangs, like when a wolf is salivating in anticipation of its prey. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I think I’ve already answered that question well enough, but I suppose even that’s a little too difficult for you to grasp,” Izaya side-steps the arm that Shizuo attempts to throw at him. “I’m just here for some food. You know, basic human needs and all.”

“You’re not human!”

Izaya spins around elegantly to turn his back on Shizuo as he steps forward to the counter. It’s his turn, and he still hasn’t really considered the menu properly, but it doesn’t matter.

He shines a smile at the dishevelled staff, and he sees a tentative smile rising on her lips. “How unfortunate it is that you have to work here on the rowdiest day of the year.” He pulls his brows together in an imitation of sympathy, and she returns his look with a slight pout.

“When you need the money, you take what you can get,” she answers. “What would you like to eat?”

“One burger set and two kid’s meal to-go, please.” He pauses, and then corrects, “Actually, three kid’s meal to-go, please.”

She smiles up at him as she registers his order, “You must have quite a few younger siblings. Must be fun.”

“If you like getting food thrown at you, then sure.” Izaya knows he’s an attractive guy, and can be charming when he wants to; he catches the girl sneak glances at him from the corner of her eyes, and when he receives his food, there’s a number scribbled at the back of the receipt, with a little winky face. How predictable, really, these humans are. They are just animals in frantic search for comfort just so that they won’t spend the last night of the year alone. Or any part of the year alone, really.

He picks up his take-out bags and walks over to the trio, who are still standing in line.

“You have siblings?” It’s Shizuo who asks, and there’s a constipated look on his face as he stares slightly to the right of Izaya.

“I know, they’re horribly annoying, aren’t they?” Izaya quirks a brow, thinking of Shizuo’s calmer younger brother.

“How many?” he questions, still not entirely looking at Izaya.

Izaya tut-tuts and leans dangerously toward the other man. “We haven’t even been on a single date and you’re already asking so many questions! How precocious, Shizu-chan!” Izaya lets Shizuo flush and sputter for a moment, before he tilts back on his heels. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, but we’ve to take it slow. We barely know each other.”

“W-What are you even – I hate you!”

“Yes, yes, and I love you too. See ya later, Shizu-chan!” Izaya gives an ironic bow, waves at Kadota and Shinra, and then skips his way out of the fast-food joint. He crumples the receipt into a ball and throws it in the nearest bin, and then makes his way back home.

He’s seventeen, his sisters are a pain in his ass, and tonight, the stench of grease in his food doesn’t seem to disgust him as much.

He doesn’t wait for the phone to ring. Not anymore.

 

 

 

“Ah, how cute,” Izaya considers the little package at his doorstep. It’s neatly wrapped in generic brown paper, and when he opens it, it reveals a simple envelope.

The words inside just read ‘Happy New Year’, type-written in an elegant cursive and printed in gold. Izaya smiles at the greeting, and then tucks it under his door.

He would never have thought that the yakuza would do New Year cards, but apparently there’s still plenty to be surprised by.

The twins – and here it is, yet another surprise! – have been invited to some friend’s party, so they aren’t at home this year. Izaya has all the freedom to do what he likes on this day, for once, and he heads towards the busiest, noisiest area of Ikebukuro.

“I-za-ya! Want sushi? Sushi is good! Sushi makes you strong! You are too small, need more meat!” comes Simon’s awkward Japanese from the corner.

It’s predictable, it’s cosy, having the constant of Simon’s deep, echoing baritone greeting him whenever he comes from this side of the street.

“What do you have today?” he decides to play along, skipping towards Simon and leaning over his shoulder to stare at the promotional fliers he’s been giving out. He scrunches his nose. “Strawberry… sushi?”

“Yes! New flavour for new year! Strawberry is good! Sushi is good! Together – very good! Dessert and lunch all in one! You should try!”

“Hm…” Izaya trails off. He doesn’t really have much plans for today, and obviously the yakuza is on break today as well, considering their greeting card. “Alright,” he decides.

“Strawberry sushi for you?” Simon asks hopefully, and Izaya pulls out one of his common, friendly grins.

“Sorry, but not today!” he answers as he’s ushered to a seat by the counter. It’s rather packed, which is odd for Russia Sushi, but considering the typical New Year crowd, he supposes that it makes sense. When forced out of everywhere else, people are bound to head to the next available option. That was why he’d eaten fast food a couple of New Years’ ago, anyway.

“Izaya-kun,” he hears a strained growl from beside him, and he nearly wants to throw his hands up in surrender. Shizuo sometimes claims it’s planned on his part, but most of the time it’s really pure coincidence, and Izaya doesn’t really want to get run out of this store right now – he’s getting rather hungry, and he already sees Denis preparing his fatty tuna in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s New Year’s Eve, Shizu-chan,” Izaya answers, “Can’t you just let me be?”

“I thought I told you to stay out of Ikebukuro. And I told you, my name is Heiwajima Shizuo!”

“You really shouldn’t be going around advertising that, should you? After all, you’re a far cry away from peaceful.” Izaya answers, propping his chin on the palm of his hand and staring at the blond a couple of seats away from him. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Shall we just make peace?”

“Like hell I’ll ever make peace with you! You’re hanging out with yakuza now, aren’t you?” The blond’s nearly halfway out of his seat, and parts of the counter is already curving in from the pressure of his hand against it.

“Really, you’re stalking me after graduation now?” Izaya’s not surprised that Shizuo knows. It’s not meant to be a secret, and besides, he’s sure Shinra knows and that’s probably where Shizuo got his information.

Why Shizuo cared, though, is a different matter.

“It’s difficult to miss you when you’re stepping out of shady black vehicles.”

“Aw, so you’re saying you’re _concerned_ for me?”

“Shut up! I’m not!” And, perhaps in anger, he grabs a sushi from his plate and stuffs it into his mouth.

Izaya cringes. “How’s that?” He indicates the strawberry jam smeared across his lips, and Shizuo runs a tongue over it.

“Disgusting,” he replies. “But answer my question,” Shizuo releases his grip on the abused countertop, “what’re you doing back in Ikebukuro? What are you planning now?”

Izaya pulls up one of the dangerous smirks from his arsenal, and directs it straight back at Shizuo. “Nothing! I’m just here, a free man, to usher in the New Year with the humans of Ikebukuro!”

Shizuo scoffs, “Alone?”

“Like you aren’t as well, Shizu-chan.”

“I’m meeting up with Kasuka later.” It’s odd, they’re almost having an amicable conversation, and Izaya isn’t entirely sure what brought this up. The strawberry sushi, perhaps, from a camaraderie formed from a shared distaste of mutilated Japanese cuisine.

That could be Russia Sushi’s slogan.

“How sweet. Your famous little brother managed to make time for you.”

A pause, and then, “Don’t you have siblings too?” Again, Shizuo makes an expression like he’s going through a particularly painful thought process, and Izaya laughs.

“Really, Shizu-chan, just because you think I’m horrible doesn’t mean I can’t have siblings. Even terrors have their own versions of terrors.”

“It just, argh,” Shizuo twists his features into a grimace, “It’s just thinking of you, and things like family and siblings, and ugh,” he heaves a shudder. “It’s weird.”

The word ‘family’ strikes him particular hard, and he has to scramble to fix a smile on his face as he answers, “That’s exactly how I feel when I see you and Kasuka. How could a hot-tempered monster have such a mild-mannered brother like _Hanejima Yuuhei_?”

“Don’t say that!” Shizuo shifts to the seat beside him in an instant and makes to press his hand over Izaya’s mouth, but Izaya leans away just in time.

“Oh,” Izaya coos, “Don’t want the general public to know who the famous Hanejima Yuuhei’s brother is?”

“Shhhh!” Shizuo’s nearly going red in the face now, and he’s closer than he’s ever been to Izaya, enough such that Izaya can nearly make out the freckles on his face. There’s not much, just a speck here and there, slightly brown against his skin. “You should know how this feels like!”

“What do you mean?” Izaya tilts his head. Shizuo glances at him.

“Isn’t it the same situation with you and your siblings –”

“Sisters, actually,” Izaya corrects.

Shizuo, once again, looks like he’s just been punched in the face. “Sisters?” he repeats stupidly.

“Nearly a decade younger, too,” Izaya smirks. “Twins.”

“ _Twins?_ ” Shizuo looks almost like that time back in high school, when he was called to the front of the class to solve a mathematic equation. Izaya could read, in the thin line of his lips and the rigidness of his jaw, that Shizuo had no idea how to solve it – much less solve it in front of an entire class who, he had correctly assumed, hated him. He’d stood in front of the class, palms sweating – Izaya’s sure he’s the only one who could tell – and he’d gripped the chalk so hard it snapped into two. Funniest was, the people seated in the first two rows of class literally jumped out of their seats and scurried away when the chalk flew out of his hand, and Shizuo had muttered a flustered apology under his breath before scribbling a random answer to the question on the blackboard.

He had, in fact, given the right answer. Mathematical solutions, after all, are merely numbers. Unfortunately, in mathematics, the route to getting the answer is also important – which Shizuo obviously hadn’t mastered.

High school was such fun with Shizuo around.

Izaya bobs his head, “Twins.” He repeats.

“Uh… what was I saying again?” And Izaya allows himself a laugh for that one.

“Shizu-chan, you were just comparing your situation with Kasuka to my situation with my sisters.”

“Ah, right,” Shizuo moves away from Izaya and runs a hand through his bleached hair. “Uh… right. Isn’t this the same situation with your and your sisters? Aren’t you afraid that, once people know of your affiliation with them, they’d target them?”

“You think much too highly of me, Shizu-chan, which I think is an achievement in itself.” Izaya shifts to allow for the waiter to place his dish onto the countertop, and then continues, “I don’t really care what happens to them. Besides,” he allows his smile to grow wider, raise edges, jagged like thorns in a rose, “People can’t hurt what you put out in the open.”

Shizuo’s the most honest person he’s ever met, really. Izaya can read the confusion in Shizuo’s expression. The blond opens his mouth, and then closes it, and the opens it again. “I’m not sure if I want to know what you’re talking about.”

“You see,” Izaya picks up a slice of fatty tuna and plops it into his mouth. It’s fresh, he notes in pleasant surprise, and he swallows it before continuing, “Let’s say I have enemies coming after me, and they’re all just waiting for me to fall. But I am a powerful person, and it’s not easy to get to me. What will they do first?”

“What is this, a test?” Shizuo grunts.

Izaya sees a younger Shizuo standing in front of a blackboard again, and he chuckles. “Let’s say that it is. What do you think they’ll do?”

Shizuo growls, “I’m not here to be lectured.”

“But you want to know the answer, don’t you?”

Shizuo presses his fingers into his palms, before unclenching his hand and letting out an aggrieved sigh. “ _Fine_. I’ll find out where you are and hunt you down.”

“Of course, it’s what you’re already doing to me, aren’t you?” Shizuo bristles, and Izaya can almost feel his hair standing on its ends, once again like an animal ready to strike, and he lets out an airy laugh. “But let’s imagine for one second that you don’t have the monstrous strength that you own, and you can’t just hunt me down and beat me up. What will you do?”

“Ugh,” the blond tangles his fingers in his hair. “I don’t know, I’ll try to find out more about you.”

“Bingo! What kind of information will you look out for?”

“Your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities, where I can hit to draw you out.”

“Ooh, you’re improving quickly! If only you were such a fast learner in school – oops, sore topic there!” Izaya twists as Shizuo grabs an empty cup and holds it over his head. “Put that down, Shizu-chan, this is not your house,” Izaya’s chair is hanging on its two front legs, and when Shizuo slowly, heavily, places the cup back down, Izaya allows his chair to fall back onto the ground with a _thud_. “Alright, so what happens if everyone knows everything about this person you’re targeting.”

“Huh?”

“What a sophisticated answer. What I mean is, there’s nothing he’s hiding. You know who his family is, his friends, his children, even his pet dog. If he’s not hiding anything, it means one of two things. First, it means that he’s confident about protecting them, that he’s taken every countermeasure possible and attacking one of them means falling into his trap, which of course would mean that you’d fail too, no?” Izaya twirls the chopsticks in his hands. “Second means that he doesn’t care about them. He doesn’t care what happens to them at all, so you can’t get to him by getting to them. People only hide away what they don’t want people to find out. Therefore, if this man is hiding nothing, it means that you can’t get to him. There are no weaknesses. But, of course,” Izaya holds the chopsticks still, “Everyone has secrets. And so, everyone has their weaknesses.”

He leaves Shizuo stewing in this revelation as he picks up another slice of tuna and chews it slowly. Ah, there’s nothing like fatty tuna to perk up his day. If he had more of an appetite, he’d have ordered three more servings.

“So, what you’re saying is, people _should_ know that Hanejime Yuuhei is my brother?” Shizuo frowns.

“I’m not saying anything Shizu-chan, I was merely giving you a free lesson. If I had actually given you any information, you’d owe me, and you don’t want that, do you?”

They sit in relative silence for a moment. Izaya finishes his plate of sushi, while Shizuo still looks like he’s getting a toothache.

Izaya stretches his legs and readies himself to leave, when Shizuo’s stare fixes him in place. “What?” he asks.

“I can’t figure you out,” Shizuo replies, and Izaya smiles.

“I can’t figure you out too, but then again, you’re not human.”

Izaya bolts before Shizuo has a chance to register his words.

That year, he’s twenty-one, and after the clock strikes twelve, he busies himself in the screens of his multiple phones.

 

 

 

They’re both getting older now. It’s getting a little tiresome, these chases, and Izaya throws a laugh that he knows will hit Shizuo by the time he catches up from behind of him.

This year, there are no little brown packages. The Awakusu-kai aren’t too happy with him, it seems. It’s probably because of Akane-chan – Shiki’s a little too sharp for Izaya’s liking, but then again, that’s what makes it fun.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya greets as Shizuo arrives, panting and with a vending machine in tow.

“Izaya-kun,” Shizuo drags out the syllables in his name, the way he does when he channels all his energy into lifting a car or throwing a stop sign like a javelin – like simply the act of calling Izaya out requires all of his efforts. “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of Ikebukuro?”

“If you were a business, that could be your slogan,” Izaya chirps, and Shizuo falters for a moment, the vending machine nearly tipping backward from the sudden pull of gravity as his brow scrunches up.

“Huh?”

“You know, because that’s what you always say. That’s what you’re advertising, basically – that you want me out of Ikebukuro.” Izaya contributes cheerily.

“I do want you out of Ikebukuro.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Ah, wait, hold on Shizu-chan,” Izaya holds his hands out in front of him as Shizuo grunts and makes a move to fling the vending machine towards Izaya.

“What?” he growls.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” And it’s true, Izaya doesn’t want to do this anymore. He’s been thinking something along the same vein for a while now, and he thinks it’s time.

Perhaps Shizuo can hear the odd sincerity in his voice – odd because Izaya never does sincerity, really – because Shizuo drops the vending machine unceremoniously behind his back. “So, you mean you’re never going to step foot into Ikebukuro again.” He voices it like a statement, but Izaya hears the question in his tone.

“Sit,” Izaya pats the empty space beside him. They’re on a rooftop – once again, a usual for the pair of them – and the sun is nearly setting. It’s quite a sight, to see the city shrouded in flames, towering skyscrapers bathed in orange and the millions of glass windows shattering the glow of sunlight into fractured crystals.

“I’m not going to sit beside you, flea.”

“Come on,” Izaya urges. There’s no mockery in his tone, no humour in his voice, and perhaps that’s what drew Shizuo in. That’s what propelled his limbs forward to Izaya’s side.

“What?” Shizuo growls as he sits down. There’s a space between the two of them that could fit another person – Shinra, maybe – and Izaya opts not to speak for a while. The sun is being chased down into the horizon, and its afterglow floods the living city beneath it.

It’s only when there’s nothing left, and the blue of the sky slowly creeps back into place, that Izaya speaks. “How are you, Shizu-chan?”

“Huh?”

“I’m tired of being chased around by you all the time. I have other, more important things to do, you know.”

“Like ruining people’s lives?” Shizuo raises a brow at him, and Izaya throws the same look back.

“Just like you are as well?”

The blond freezes for a second, before his gaze falls to his dangling feet. “I don’t.”

“Just because you’ve saved a few people doesn’t mean you don’t also ruin their lives.” Izaya stares back out at the horizon. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. Just because you act like a hero doesn’t mean you still aren’t a monster.”

“I’m _not_ – ugh!” Shizuo’s grip in the concrete beside him is precariously tight. “And what I’ve been telling you is that I’m human, too!”

“I beg to differ,” Izaya answers evenly, turning to face Shizuo. “Because I don’t love you.”

There’s a blush that’s starting to rise up from Shizuo’s neck before Shizuo turns away. “I don’t need you to love me for me to know that I’m human. Just because you love all humans doesn’t mean you’re the authority on them.”

“What I’m saying is that you are different,” Izaya says, his gaze still fixed on Shizuo’s profile. “You can’t honestly think that a human’s able to do that.” He gestures toward the concrete beneath Shizuo’s hands, which is crumbling. Chips of it have already broken off completely from his strength, and Shizuo hastily lets go when he notices.

He takes a deep breath. “I know. I’ve spent my whole life knowing that I’m different from the rest. But I’m trying. I’m trying to be better, I’m trying to control myself to not hurt the people that I love.” Shizuo squeezes his hands together, drops his gaze to his enclosed palms, “And there are people that I care for, people that I will fight to protect. I have weaknesses, not because I have secrets, but because I open myself up enough to let people in.” He releases his palms, and when his gaze meets Izaya’s, it almost comes as a shock. “That’s what makes me human.”

Izaya hasn’t expected Shizuo to remember their last friendly encounter. It’s been years, after all, and Izaya had said so many things, and even he himself couldn’t fully understand the reasons why he’d told Shizuo all of that.

When Izaya stands up and begins walking back to the staircase, Shizuo adds, “This is why I’m not like you, Izaya.” His voice carries clear in the wind. “I’m not afraid to have weaknesses.”

“Goodbye, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says. This is going to be their last friendly conversation.

He’s twenty-five. His phones are a constant buzz by his side, and he lives in an apartment entirely too large for his thin frame. Beneath the thunder of fireworks, he plans his last act of misdeed in Ikebukuro.

 

 

 

It’s not a scenery he’s familiar with, but then again, everything seems unfamiliar to him now.

He likes the view up here, but there’s something missing. He swallows away the lump that crawls up his throat.

It’s not like him to miss his home.

When he leaves the hotel, it’s sunny out. Not just sunny, but ferociously sunny, like this city’s determined to be as far from the frigid cold of Tokyo as it can be. Still, Izaya feels his limbs aching, like the imaginary cold he expects from Tokyo is seeping into his bones and freezing his joints.

Doesn’t matter; the wheelchair moves fluidly beneath him.

He’s alone today; he wheels himself to the park, where families are either sitting around or playing ball games, and hides under the shadow of a tree as he watches.

Izaya’s used to being alone, but today, somehow, it feels lonelier. Like he’s lost even the embrace of the home he used to take comfort in.

A home he used to hide in.

It’s not like his phone isn’t blowing up with messages – it still is, from people as unimportant as the ants crawling beneath his chair – but for now, he opts to ignore them. It’s funny, how he used to wait for the buzz of the phone, how he begged for it, pleaded for it even, yet now when he has all ten of his phones chiming, he feels the urge to throw each and every one of them against a tree.

Even his sisters’ whining is better than this.

Ah, it’s no good. Today’s not a good day for him, it seems. It brings back memories of that last day, that final fight, and he’s already indulged too much of it, he doesn’t bear to indulge in more.

He finally understands what he’s done wrong, though. He might not have considered Shizuo a human, but he failed to realise that _others_ did – that Heiwajima Shizuo was as much a monster to Izaya as he was a brother, a friend, a human, to others.

That’s something Izaya would never have known, so he accepts his defeat with as much grace as he can muster. It’s his fault, truly. He’s allowed himself to be too far detached from his beloved humans.

“Izaya?”

When Izaya turns around, he almost expects it to be Shinra, or Dota-chin, but it’s neither. It’s Shizuo, who looks almost as shocked to see him, and the blond blinks. “Izaya-kun?” he repeats.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya breathes out.

The blond takes a step forward, then falters. His gaze drops to the chair he’s seated on, and then back to the blandness of Izaya’s expression, then back to the chair again. “A-Are you –”

“Oh, you’re not demanding for me to stay out of Ikebukuro now?” Izaya’s chest is running, sprinting as fast as it can away from the beast, but he forces the adrenaline down, drags the usual smile in his repertoire out in the open and stares up at Shizuo with the usual intensity of his rust-red eyes. “How unfortunate. That was your selling point.”

“What are you – I’m not – we’re not in Ikebukuro anymore.” Shizuo looks as lost as Izaya feels, once again so genuine and honest in the expression that he makes. It only further drives Izaya inwards, forces Izaya to drown the beating in his ears and the twitching in his fingers and the phantom pains jolting up and down his broken legs with a laughter so loud, so sharp, he thinks it might puncture his own eardrums.

“Of course, we’re not, Shizu-chan,” Izaya finally takes a breath from his bout of laughter. “So, tell me, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here with Tom-san. On a business trip.” Shizuo shakes his head. “Izaya, are… are you doing okay?”

You don’t get to ask me that, Izaya wants to say. You don’t get to break me so thoroughly and ask after my well-being. You don’t deserve that.

Instead, he crosses his legs – it hurts, it hurts so much he can feel the indentation of Shizuo’s hand against his bones, but he’s used to pretending it doesn’t now, used to masking the pain away – and smiles. “I see you’re still holding the job. That’s nice.”

“Izaya, I…” Shizuo takes a step forward, and this time, Izaya flinches in spite of himself.

The blond stops, frozen. Carefully, he holds out his palms. His eyes are wide, “Izaya, I’m not planning to – I’m not going to hurt you.”

The blood is pounding in his head. He can feel the shatter of bones in his arms, the crack of his spine against solid concrete, the weight of gravity against his body as he’s thrown, broken rag doll and all, into the air.

Fingers against his neck. Cold eyes freezing his limbs.

The sunset against the backdrop of the city, legs dangling in the air.

Strawberry sushi. Chopsticks in the air.

Burgers. Kadota. A receipt.

Video games. A bespectacled face.

Staring for hours at a phone that just refuses to ring.

Izaya’s standing before he knows it. His legs scream, resists, jolts of pain crying at him to stop, but he moves anyway. He takes one step, then another, plants the deadweight of his foot one in front of the other.

Shizuo stands there like a wall, eyes still wide, mouth slightly agape, and Izaya’s still moving – barely, falteringly, but moving. A brick wall and a broken body.

Izaya stops. He feels the wind tugging at his back, and he thinks he can feel the stares of a thousand eyes on him, feels the heat of the sun heavy against his skin. He throws all that awareness away.

He zones in on the one person standing in front of him right now.

The pain in his legs hasn’t lessened, but Izaya knows it’s all psychological, he knows it’s the guilt that’s tearing apart not only his brain but his legs, his body, and maybe this is what he needs to do. Maybe this is what he needs to do to get his legs back.

Maybe this is just what he needs to do, period.

He takes a breath. When he looks up, Shizuo’s gaze is flickering, uncertain, and somehow it relaxes him. He’s not the only one frazzled in this situation.

Izaya steels himself, and then forces his gaze to meet Shizuo’s. “I’m sorry.”

Shizuo’s stare steadies, hones in onto Izaya’s face and stays there. Another breath, and then –

“I’m sorry, Shizu – Shizuo. You were right, it was me all along. I was the one who didn’t get it.” Izaya feels his stomach turning, feels his gut rising up to his throat. He wants to puke. He wants to run. There’s still that itching beneath his skin, incessant and persistent; but his limbs are cold and his legs are frozen and there’s nothing else he can do but stay there and plough through. “You are human – if not to me, then to everyone else.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. This wasn’t in his plans. That’s all that he can come up with.

When Shizuo shifts, Izaya thinks he might be hit. This time around, he won’t recover that easily. This time around, he can’t run. His face will be shattered, bones broken to the point of no repair. Shizuo will literally be able to wipe the grin off of his face, but Izaya’s not grinning anymore. 

“Thank you,” Shizuo finally speaks. It comes as a surprise, and it fills the air with the weight of its words.

Izaya thinks that this means he can relax a little more, that the thundering in his chest might quieten enough for him to actually be able to _think_ , but it doesn’t. It hammers louder, it drums harder, and Izaya doesn’t really know what more to do. What else to do.

If this isn’t enough, then what more? He has nothing else to give. Izaya’s never had anything, and now he’s given whatever little he owns away. There’s nothing more.

“But Izaya – are you doing okay?” Shizuo repeats. It’s as if these words have pulled apart a seam – once they register, however dully, in Izaya’s mind, everything falls apart.

Suddenly Izaya’s in Shizuo’s grasp, burying his head into Shizuo’s shoulder. He’s not crying, not exactly, but it feels like something’s crawling out of his chest and beating its limbs against his heart and Izaya tries to fight it, tries to fight the monster that’s been festering, but it begs to be let out.

And Izaya’s in no condition to hold it in any longer.

He’s lonely. He’s so, so, so, so lonely. Ever since childhood, he’s been lonely. He’s been alone, he’s been afraid, he’s been desperate and sad and tired and angry and he hates that all he has is a phone and a blank wall to stare at when his classmates are having dinner at a dining table, fighting over channels on the TV, wrapped in a warm towel after a hot shower, tucked into bed at night. He hates that every time the phone rings his feet rushes to catch it before the music stops, hates pressing that cold hard metal into his ear and listening to the tinny voice of his parents’ apologies repeated over and over again from thousands of kilometres away.

He hates how the twins stare at him, like he’s stolen them from their parents; how he’s expected to cook for three when he’s still young enough to ride the bus for free. How he forges signatures on school documents and walks his younger sisters to school when all he wants is his parents asking about his day and scolding him for skipping classes.

He hates that he spends every New Year getting more and more cynical, more and more disenchanted, more and more like he’s losing himself despite only having himself to spend time with.

The sobs finally slow, his chest finally relaxes enough for him to actually breathe, and when he pulls away, he wants to blush at the wet soaking through Shizuo’s shirt, but he can’t. He’s all spent.

Izaya averts his gaze when Shizuo tries to catch it, so instead Shizuo places his palm on Izaya’s shoulders. The warmth is surprising, pleasant unlike the beat of sun against his back, and when Izaya dares to look up, Shizuo is smiling.

It still looks like he’s having a toothache, but still.

“We’re having hotpot today. You should join us.”

Somehow, now, when Izaya walks, his legs don’t hurt as bad. They still ache, they still send pulses of pain through his limbs, but it’s not as agonising as it was a few minutes before. It doesn’t send him into spasms or pull back flashes of memory anymore. It’s a mild, persistent but bearable ache, and as Izaya slowly sets himself back down on the wheelchair, he thinks he can take this.

He can accept this.

He’s older now, twenty-eight, and he finally looks forward to midnight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
